Loving Bella
by B.Apple.22
Summary: "I was fascinated by how someone so sad...could still be so beautiful." Falling in love with Bella was effortless. Fighting for her was impossible.


**Hello!**

**I got another plot monster but this one manifested itself so quickly I already have the outline written down for this multi-chapter fic. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Rated M for Language and LEMONS LEMONS LEMONS!**

**Disclaimer: SM owns everything**

Leaving Cities

"_Whenever you leave a given place, even if it's only on a temporary basis, in a great many practical ways you cease to exist in the minds of the people there. This is especially true if the place you leave is called New York City." ~Kinky Friedman, Ten Little New Yorkers: A Novel_

**BELLA**

It's late August and I have been sitting here in the afternoon sun for twenty minutes. I am uncomfortable and wishing I had chosen a table inside. I order another glass of water, craving the momentary relief it brings to the heat that blooms in my chest. I send a silent curse to Jacob and Alice for making me wait.

The park is pulsating with activity-like an inhuman energy flows through the roots of trees only to be soaked up by thousands of bodies who don't seem to mind the weather as much as I do.

There are young children wearing miniature replicas of their watchful mother's clothing. They run around in the manicured grass, some chasing their friends and others their own imagination. A soft jazz tune caresses the air around me, the player inconspicuous. Young girls pass by me, laughing the way only careless seventeen year olds can, completely oblivious to the world and its hardships. A few dozen couples lay spread out on blankets. There are novels perched knowingly in their hands, heads lying on stomachs with bent knees. They laugh at unheard jokes, kiss with a fervor like the rays burning my skin.

A third glass of water appears in front of me on the white plastic table cover. The ice is already half its original size. When I reach for the glass, the layer of condensation that has gathered along the smooth surface coats my sweaty palm, but I don't mind. I lift the glass to my lips, squinting as the sky assaults my eyes when I tip my head back, gulping as the water coats my tongue. The liquid gracefully falls down the back of my throat, extinguishes the fire that has manifested from my overheated body.

I down nearly half the glass in one sip before setting it down, adjusting my eyes back to a more favorable lighting in time to see my sister and Jacob, strolling along at a pace that is as sluggish as the air around us.

Alice spots me first and her movements speed up to a graceful jog. The hot pink sweater that is tied loosely over her black leotard falls behind her, though she remains inattentive. I see Jacob pick it up before my sister completely swarms my vision.

She is talking rapidly and I am able to make out the phrases 'practice ran late' and 'uptown traffic' before her thin arms engulf me in a hug.

"Were you waiting long?" She pulls away, leaving her cold hands on my heated shoulders. Her plucked brows rise in worry.

"Um, about twenty minutes," I say, and then shrug.

A sound of exasperation escapes through her pink glossed lips. She lets her hands fall away, twisting her head quickly to see Jacob who has now reached us. Alice's sweater dangles carelessly off his index finger, an easy smile plastered on his full lips.

"I told you we should have taken the train," Alice says in a tone resembling a mother chastising her child. I almost expect a muttered 'I told you so' to crawl its way into the space between them.

"The train is crowded. And it is too hot. You would have complained either way," Jacob defends, ruffling Alice's shiny black bob. She smacks his hand away, producing a deep chuckle from his parted lips before he turns his attention to me. "Sorry, we're late Bella."

"Don't worry about it. Not like I had plans," I say halfheartedly with a small laugh.

"Is Mike working again?" Alice questions, her tone a mix between surprise and annoyance. I nod my head as she sits down, Jacob and I following behind her, and raises her hand to get the waiter's attention. A dozen silver bangles jingle on her wrist. "That is the fifth time this week, Bella."

"Third," I correct her automatically, maybe too quickly. "Is that a bad thing?"

Alice purses her lips. "I didn't say that."

I clear my throat and take a sip of my lukewarm water. Alice has never been Mike's biggest fan. She doesn't hate him- she just doesn't particularly like him either. Everything he does seems to perturb her in some fashion, and Alice has always had a way of speaking her mind. I expect her to comment further on the subject, but Jacob intervenes. Relief courses through my body.

"He just wants to spoil his wife," he offers with a nudge to my shoulder and a handsome smirk. "Ain't that right, Bella?"

The relief is squashed. I fake a laugh, hoping they can't see how _incorrect _that statement is. Mike may be making money but he sure as hell isn't spoiling me. Mike was never the romantic type and I was aware of that when I married him, so expecting him to bring home flowers just because would be foolish, wishful thinking. And he isn't a bad husband- he's ideal, really. Mike always remembers the birthdays, the anniversaries, and the silly holidays. He always kisses my cheek in the morning before he leaves for work. He makes sure to buy the groceries that I forget, unclogs the shower drain and fixes the window sill when it refuses to shut. He takes care of me, and being with him is easy. He fits perfectly into all the holes in my life that I can't fill by myself.

Alice doesn't drop the subject. "Is he working this weekend?"

I don't answer right away, because I know he is and that will only fuel her fire for Mike.

"It's Labor Day," she states, as if it should explain everything.

"The hospital is still open on Labor Day, Al," Jacob says, casually leaning back in his chair and crossing one pressed pant leg over the other.

"Yes, thank you," she snaps at him and then turns back to me. "You didn't have plans with him? With anyone?"

"Not really," I state. We weren't planning on leaving the city. It wasn't a major holiday, only to Alice who took every opportunity to pack a suitcase and flee New York for however long she could. "Besides, I have my own work to catch up on."

"So you are going to hole yourself up in that little apartment and write?" Alice sets hands on top of each other. Even with the sun, she is still creamy white. When she speaks again, her tone is soft and concerned. "You need to get out Bella."

"It's not like I spend every waking moment inside my apartment," I say, but as each word leaves my mouth I know it is a carefully constructed lie. "I mean, I'm here right now."

"One a week lunch hardly counts for 'going out.'"

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, I close it and twist my hands tightly on my lap, the skin stretching thin over my knuckles. I can feel Alice brimming over the edge across from me, ready to pounce, but thankfully the waiter arrives to take our orders.

I gain time, not enough to distract Alice but enough to let her words stew in my mind. Mike isn't really one to go out, so that would be another carless expectation. I think about the last time I went out, aside from having these routine lunches, and come up blank. The realization bothers me.

"So you are going to spend the next three days, what? Pretending to write?"

I sigh and avert my gaze to the wide expanse of park, with the silver-gray peaks of concrete towering just slightly above the tree line. "I'm going to spend the next few days writing."

I know my sister, and I know she is about to argue. But Jacob knows her too, so he knows when to cut in.

"Why don't you spend the weekend in the Hamptons with me?"

That was not what I expected. My brows draw together in confusing and I peer at him through slanted eyes.

"The Hamptons?" I question.

"Yeah," he replies, gulping down the brown, syrupy soda he ordered. He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm. "Emmett invited me to go spend the weekend with him. Apparently Rose's parents own a little house on the beach up there. I don't think they would mind if you came with me."

Emmett was a colleague and good friend of Jacob. The man was six foot five and built much like the buildings just outside this little oasis. His curly hair reminded me of Clark Kent and he always had some sarcastic comment stashed away, making two dimples form on either side of his 'happy go-lucky' smile. He was a good guy, and I instantly felt affection toward his boyish disposition when I first met him.

Rosalie was a different story. Jacob assured me she was cool, but her frigid blue eyes held an intimidation that Emmett's lacked. She emanated confidence like it was embedded into her bones, not just a state of mind. She was statuesque with an amber mane surrounding flawless features. I know she came from a wealthy family in Rhode Island, so a 'little house on the beach' would be a great understatement, I'm sure. I had only met this frosty goddess once and we didn't exactly exchange numbers or meet for coffee after the encounter, so while Emmett may not have minded me crashing this Hampton's getaway, I wasn't sure Rosalie would be so blasé about it.

I bite my lip. "I don't know Jake. I don't want to intrude and it's short notice. I would have to ask Mike…" I let my voice trail off, hinting that it wasn't going to happen.

"You said he was working all weekend," Jacob notes. "That means he won't have time to miss you if you're gone." A pin strikes my chest, causing a muted prickle of pain to spread across my chest. Shouldn't my husband always miss me? Or is that another expectation I shouldn't hold? "Come on, Bells," he continues, using my nickname and puppy dog eyes as means of persuasion. "This way I won't be the third wheel, either. Or, well fifth I guess."

"_Fifth _wheel?" I gasp. "Are there more people Jake?"

"Well, Emmett said Rosalie's brother might come with his girlfriend," Jacob explains. "That would make me the _fifth_ wheel." He says this like I am inept.

"Jake, I can't just waltz into Rosalie and her brother's beach house. I barely know Rosalie and I've never even met her brother." Anxiety rises in the back of my neck at the thought.

"You wouldn't be 'waltzing in,' Bella. I'm going to be there, too. And I invited you."

"I think it's a good idea," Alice offers with a grin. Of course she does.

"I have to start writing…something for work." Excuse number one.

"You can write there, Bella." Alice rolls her eyes. "And I _highly_ doubt Victoria expects you to create anything worthwhile in the next three days."

"Rosalie may not even want me there." Excuse number two.

"It doesn't matter. Emmett likes you, I was invited and you're _my _guest," Jacob assures, a shit-eating grin crossing his features.

"Mike may not want me to leave the city." Excuse number three.

I'm left with nothing now.

"You can ask him when you get home. If he doesn't want you to leave, go. If he doesn't care what you do, go." Alice clasps her hands under her chin. "Problem solved."

"Your excuses are pretty fragile, Bella," Jacob states blatantly, leaning closer. "We can argue about this for the next hour-even though I'll win, and we both know that. Or you can just agree to go and start packing."

I go to run a hand through my hair before I remember it is up in a messy knot. I let my finger thread through the loose hair, resting it on top of my head as I deliberate. My stomach is uneasy about spontaneously leaving the city to spend the weekend with four people I barely know, one of whom makes ice slide though my veins and two that I don't know at all. But Jacob is right, I have no concrete reason to stay and he'll argue me on every point I make. I let my hand drop to my lap, once again intertwining my fingers into tight knots that resemble the sick feeling settled in my belly. I can now only wish Mike will want me to stay.

But I have to give an answer.

"Okay."

*LB*

I get home and try writing, but no words form in my head-at least not words Victoria wants to read. My eyes just gaze blankly at the fresh Word document. I inhale and exhale with each blink of the cursor. I haven't written anything of value in weeks. It may be months.

I shut the computer down and hide it under yesterday's newspaper.

I end up in the kitchen, flipping through the pages of my grandmother's cookbook. The once shiny gloss that used to conceal the recipes has faded with use. There are chocolate stains, saucy fingerprints. They litter the pages with worn appreciation. I recall my mother, standing at the counter in our yellow kitchen. Her hair is sun-kissed chestnut, tied loosely to the top of her head with kinky curls escaping across her cheekbones and forehead. There is flour on her shirt, red polish on her toes. She has one hand on her hip while the other carefully scans the pages.

I don't know if this memory is real, or something I wished was real. I know her hair was like mine, but with blonde beams that streaked through the locks. I know she couldn't cook but always tried. I know I used to watch her from the whicker chair at the small table by the bay window. But this recollection is young, so young that Alice isn't a part of it. And these memories are fragile, crumbling to ash when I remember I was five when she left and couldn't possibly remember something so small.

I pick a random recipe. Mike will eat anything and my appetite is scarce this evening. The busy New York street below plays a melody of car horns and sirens. Today, these sounds don't bring a welcomed distraction like they do most days. My mind is too loud today, the volume turned up to maximum. I am not bothered by speculations of Mike working so often. I am not stewing over Alice's jibe at my recent inability to do my job; to write. I am not even panicking about possibly going to the Hamptons with Jake and four people I barely know, though that is a part of it.

My head is thick and weighing heavily behind my eyes because Jacob may be right- would Mike even care if I left?

I love Mike. I have since I was fourteen. He takes care of me when I can't take care of myself. He sacrifices his future for mine- and for Alice's. We fill our roles to a tee. A husband and wife; a doctor and writer; a boyish character who makes the timid girl laugh, that is what we are. I realize our life is mundane but I prefer it that way. I saw what a spontaneous and carless love led to with my parents. My mother stripped every fiber of my father away and tossed them back for him to reconstruct. He was a wonderful father, but his eyes were hollow when she left. He was a balloon, cut loose from my mother but instead of being set free to float, he was pushed down and popped, destroyed to rubbery shreds. But being with Mike isn't like that. We don't push each other to that popping point. We are balanced evenly.

But a part of me hopes he will say no to Jacob's proposition. I don't want the effortlessness of the situation where he won't even care. I want him to tell me to stay here, for him to want to spend whatever free time he has with me, because a husband should devote those precious moments to his wife. I want him to always feel empty when I'm not with him, and full when I am. He assures me he loves me- everyday- in the morning and at night. I don't doubt him.

I doubt me.

I hear Mike's key slip between the groves of the lock. I compose myself, rubbing at my temple.

"Bella?" he calls out, opening the door. He is in rumpled blue scrubs, his hair slightly disheveled from working so long. The skin underneath is eyes is a sickly color, but below that his cheekbones are slightly red. He burns easily. His clear colored irises scan the small room before landing on me. A smile graces his lips and I remind myself- and chastise Jacob- that he is still happy to see me when he comes home. "Hey, baby."

"Hi," I respond, chastely kissing him routinely when he comes over, encircling his arms around my waist. My fingertips itch to touch his face, so I let my index finger trace the bag under his right eye. "Mike, you look so tired."

Mike sighs and shrugs, his thumbs rubbing circles into my hips. "It was a long day…and night." His arms leave me, now reaching for a bottle of water. He twists the cap off, letting his back rest against the lip of the counter by the stove. After taking a few large sips, he peers at the simmering sauce. "Smells great. Alfredo?"

"Yep."

Mike smiles. We have nothing more to say. I suddenly feel awkward; the silence stretching between us is thick.

Mike doesn't seem to notice. He pushes away from the counter, kisses my cheek and retreats into the bedroom.

Unease somersaults in my stomach. This is our routine, how everyday goes and should go. But today, I am bothered by it. I bite my lip and crack my toes on the linoleum flooring.

"What did you do today?" he asks. His voice is softer from the bedroom.

I go back to stirring the sauce. "Not much. I had lunch with Jacob and Alice."

"How did that go?"

I snort. "I was waiting for twenty minutes, in this insane heat wave. You know I hate the heat."

"Well, aside from your sister's lack of punctuality." Mike renters, wearing gray sweatpants Alice bought him for Christmas and a cheesy New York tee we got on our first day here. His feet slap the wood, and I know it is my turn to say something.

"Um, Jacob is going to the Hamptons this weekend." Mike's lower lip juts out, his eyebrows raise but he says nothing. I continue. "I guess his friend Emmett-remember Emmett? We met him at one of Jacob's house parties? Well, he is going with his girlfriend and her brother. They have a house up there or something, and um, they are doing some Labor Day weekend getaway thing."

"Sounds fun, Jacob lives for that."

I swallow and tap my fingers anxiously against the wooden spoon that has yet to move around the pan. I want to ask him what he means by that but instead I get word vomit. "Yeah, and Jacob invited me to go with him. I mean, I told him I would have to ask you before I just went." I hold my breath.

"Is that what you're doing now?" I don't look at him. "Bella?"

"Mhm," I mumble.

"Are you asking if you can go to the Hamptons with Jacob this weekend?"

I shrug, because I don't know what else to do. "I guess," I reply. "Jake…well he really wants me to go, and he doesn't want to be the third wheel or fifth wheel or whatever."

"Do you want to?" he pushes.

I raise my eyes to meet his. They aren't angry or upset, just curious. "I don't know."

"I think you should," Mike surmises, tossing his now empty water away. "You should get out of the city for the weekend. I'm working anyways."

My eyes prickle just enough for me to know this isn't the answer I want. "All weekend?"

"No, not all weekend, Bell." He comes over to be, resting his warm and gentle hands against my cheeks. "But most of it. This way, we won't have time to miss each other we will both be so busy." He kisses one cheek…two cheeks…my nose. "Then we can have a lovely dinner when you get home. I'll cook."

I force a smile and let him kiss me. He moans a little, and I know what that means. His hands slide over my shoulders, down my back, resting right above my ass.

"Maybe we should forget about Alfredo," Mike drawls. "I won't get to touch you again till Tuesday."

I nod and watch him as he turns the stove off, leaving the sauce to collect dust, among other things. He engulfs my hand in his, pulling me toward the bedroom.

Another routine. I moan when he kisses my neck. I remove his sweatpants and boxers. I sigh when he enters me, all familiarity and gentle caresses.

He tells me he loves me.

"I love you, too."

For once, I don't think we are talking about the same love.

*LB*

**EDWARD**

Rosalie raises her eyebrows when I enter through the front door of the Hampton's house. Her blue-violet eyes move rapidly. She looks at my face. She looks at the door that I have closed with my foot. She looks back to me.

"Hi," I greet, ticking my hand in a small wave.

"Hi." She crosses her arms and jerks her head back to remove a glossy lock from her shoulder. "Where is your friend?"

"Um," I stammer, looking behind me and to the sides. "Not here?" It sounds like a question.

Rosalie's sarcasm reaches full capacity. "Yes, Edward, I can see that. Why?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Something came up, Rose. But I'm here."

She sighs in exasperation, giving me the same look Carlisle gives me often. Everything about Rose is a carbon copy of our father. The same blonde tresses surrounding frigid blue eyes permanently slanted in disapproval. She looks up to the ceiling, shuffles her weight and then levels her gaze back to me.

"Alright," she says in a clipped tone. "I have to go finish things in the kitchen. I trust you can find your room."

I curl my lips in, mashing them together as I nod. Rose clears her throat and bobs her head once in an elegant fashion before she turns on her hell and retreats back down the small hall. I bend down and grab the fraying handle of my duffle bag, shoulder my backpack up higher, and make my way down the familiar path to the bedroom.

My relationship with Rose hasn't been…_peachy _these last few years. To say the least, I was surprised when she invited me here for the weekend, considering we barely talk anymore. I'm even more surprised I agreed to show up. I haven't been to the Hampton's house since I was eighteen. I know Carlisle and Rose visited frequently throughout the summer. It's easier for them to be here. They don't mind staring at the photos on the walls- the ones that span nearly a decade of summers consisting of picnics and playing in the surf as it sailed in and out.

My room hasn't changed, aside from my shitty twin bed being swapped out for a queen. The sheets are stormy blue and match the curtains that dangle in front of floor to ceiling windows. I still have a desk that overlooks the creamy sand and lapis water, a small ceramic mug filled with pencils and paintbrushes.

The late afternoon light is strong enough that is seeps through the hanging fabric that shimmers slightly. It paints the room in a gold tint, making it seem warmer than it actually is.

I debate whether I should unpack or just save myself the trouble and leave my duffle bag on the floor of the closet. I choose the latter, shut my door and avoid eye contact with the framed pictures hung with precision on the sandy colored wall.

I can hear Emmett's boisterous voice as I descend the stairs and make my way to the kitchen. He is leaning against the island. His beefy hand is clutching a sandwich that seems to have the entire contents of the fridge stuffed between two pieces of bread. His mouth is moving ferociously as he chews whatever is hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

"Eddie!" he exclaims, his mouth still full of food.

"Jesus, Em," Rose chides. "Can you chew your fucking food before you repaint the room with it?"

Emmett makes a show of swallowing. He wipes his mouth, eyes locked on Rose the entire time with deliberation to piss her off. I snort because I like Emmett. He is a funny son of a bitch who can fight fire with fire when it comes to my sister. He is a year older than me, but has the maturity of a twelve year old, but I don't mind. He guarantees an interesting conversation and a shit ton of booze to accompany it.

"Happy?" he grins as Rose, who is fuming. "Anyways, as I was saying." Emmett drops his sandwich onto a paper plate and saunters over to me. Emmett and I have passed the manly shake at this point, so he claps me on the back and pulls away. "How the hell are ya, Ed?"

I hate the nickname, but I let him use it anyways. Rose encourages it anyways. "I'm alright, Emmett."

"Yeah?" he grins, rubbing his nose with a large fist. "Where is your friend? Karen?"

"Kate," I correct. "She had something come up. She's sorry she couldn't make it."

Rose snorts. Her head is bent over a cutting board, the resounding _chop chop_ is like the soundtrack to her sickly sweet disposition that is about to rear its ugly head. "What _exactly_ came up, Edward? You never did tell me."

Emmett grimaces and moves back to his neglected sandwich.

"She got a call from work. Last minute drama and she had to go deal with it."

"It doesn't have anything to do with…oh, I don't know, you?" Rose retorts, seeing through my bullshit like a good sister.

The truth is that I pissed Kate off this morning. "I told her I was moving."

"You didn't tell her before hand?" Rose drops the knife to the wooden board, facing me. "Why are you so stupid?"

"I didn't think it was a big deal, Rose." I grab an apple and toss it up. "We both decided we didn't want a relationship."

"So you were just going to what? Leave and not tell her?"

"I told her this morning." My face splits into a smirk. Emmett laughs around the concoction of bread, mayo and cheese in his mouth.

"You're such an ass, Edward."

"I'm here aren't I?"

"Yeah, it only took four years to get you here. When are you going to get over it?" She threads her fingers into her hair and lifts her eyes. I see her mouth tremble with inaudible words. "Okay, can you at least be pleasant when Jacob gets here with Isabella?"

The fuck? "I don't even know who those people are."

"Jacob works with Emmett," Rose informs me, pointing to Emmett. "And Isabella is a…friend he is bringing with him."

"You could have told me this was a couples retreat, Rose," I scoff.

"Well, it wouldn't have been bad if you didn't chase Kate away," she snaps. "And it isn't some couples retreat. Isabella is married and I'm pretty certain Jacob bats for the other team."

"Great," I sneer and roll my eyes. "Is this a set up for me?"

"It's not like you don't need it," Rose jests, her tone laced heavily with false sweetness.

I pull my hair and groan, knowing I won't win. "I'm going for a walk."

"Be back for dinner, bro!" Emmett calls but I am already out the glass door, feet sinking into the sand with nothing to pull me up.

*LB*

The sun is no longer a simmering ball of marigold in the sky when I make my way to the house. It sits on the horizon of the water, changing the colors of everything in sight. The horizon is a palette of amber, tangerine and magenta, all mixing together and licking their way up like a flame before touching the early beginnings of a violet-blue night.

I can hear the laughter from my position on the shore and I realize they are outside on the patio. Emmett and Rose are sitting side by side at the glass picnic table, a glass of wine in her hand and a beer in his. A single candle is flitting in the evening breeze, threatening to diminish at any moment. I can see another haunting figure, his back facing me.

Jacob.

"Ed!" Emmett shouts, noticing me standing there. "The hell are ya doin'?"

"Right," I mutter to myself and make my way up to the wooden steps. My thighs are sore from the constant struggle against the sand. I could really use a beer.

"It's about time."

I ignore Rose and fix my eyes on the newcomers. Jacob is like Emmett; he is sitting but I can tell he stands inches about me. His skin is russet colored, contrasting with his white teeth that shine through pleasant smile. The color of his eyes is straight black, but they manage to shine with mirth.

"This is Jake," Emmett introduces us, flourishing his hand between us. "Jake, this is Eddie."

"Edward," I state firmly. My hand reaches out to shake Jacobs. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jacob."

"Jake," he responds. "Please, Jacob is my attorney name."

I smile briefly. "Nice of you to join us."

"Thanks for having me."

We run out of words instantly. I regret not grabbing a beer, but Emmett breaks the silence in usual fashion.

"Jake here is a hell of a lawyer."

"Really?" I say and then add, "I'm moving to the city in a few weeks. Knowing a lawyer will do me some good."

"Get into a lot of trouble, Edward?" Jacob chuckles. "You have Emmett though, damn fine lawyer as well."

Emmett slaps the table, causing it to shutter from the force. "Damn straight!"

"Fuck, Em," Rose mutters in surprise.

"Yeah, but I can't take that idiot seriously. He's been dating my sister for two years now, I know too much."

Jacob roars with laughter and nods his head in agreement. I find myself joining in the chorus that is sailing through the air from everyone but Emmett, who sits pouting. Jacob's laugh dwindles down into a sigh. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes alight as they dart to the space next to me.

"Hey, Bells. Did you get lost or something?"

A nervous giggle utters behind me. "Does that surprise you? This house is _huge_."

"Tell me about it," Emmett agrees and then begins another round of introductions. "Bella, this is Rose's brother Eddie. Eddie, this is Jacob's friend Bella."

I get up, turn around, and my mouth goes dry. Jacob's friend Bella is shuffling just outside the threshold of the sliding door in the kitchen. Her hair is a rich brown with evening sun catching red highlights as they twist into a braid cascading over her right shoulder, stray pieces flying freely. Her skin is as pale as the sand on the beach, but soft and I itch to touch it. Wide eyes take me in, their color a mix between black coffee and almond brown. Her lips are coral, pouty and drawing me.

Hook, line, sinker.

"Hi," she says first, her arm extending. "I'm Bella."

I stop my ogling and meet her hand.

…_Fuck_.

I don't feel an electric current run up my arm, or whatever bullshit they say you feel when you are attracted to someone. But her hand is warm, small and so soft I have to look down to see if I am still holding it. And I am. And there, clear as day, is a white gold wedding band wrapped snuggly around her index finger.

I clear my throat. "Nice to meet you, Bella. I'm Edward."

We drop hands. My palm tingles in absence. I don't know if there is an awkward pause or if I imagine it before she is moving to sit beside Jacob and Rose is leaving with Emmett to get dinner.

"I hear Emmett made some ribs," Jacob says. He claps his hand and rubs them together, a devilish look crossing his face.

"That's one of the two things Emmett _can _cook," I joke.

"Two?" Jacob questions.

"Yeah, the second being fast food."

Jacob guffaws while Bella giggles. It sounds like wind chimes. It soft and blends in with the wind more than it does the joke. The sound is cautious, like she doesn't hear lame jokes often.

"I'm sure Rose _loves _that," Jacob chortles, winking at me when he takes a pull from his beer.

"Can I get you another?" I offer, gesturing to his beer. I am craving the amber liquid at this point. I don't know if the reason is my callous sister or the beautiful girl sitting across from me. Probably a combination of the two.

"Sure," Jacob purses his lips.

I let my eyes wander to Bella. She is twisting her wedding band and glaring at the table cloth, her face fixed in concentration. "Bella?" Her eyes meet mine, face relaxing. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Oh, um," she bites her lip. I want to bite it too. "No, thank you."

Jacob groans and stretches his languid arms out. They land with a thud on the back of the bench. "Come on, Bells. You're on _vacation_, you are allowed to get a little buzz. That is the whole point of you coming here. Fun, remember?"

Bella looks uncomfortable and I can tell Jacob is bringing up a previous conversation involving a touchy subject. Her shoulders lift and go back down; she's fidgeting. She deliberating, I think. Or maybe she is just stalling. I'm about to tell her I can get her water or soda, I'm sure Rose brought some when she looks back at me. Her eyes now show determination. I am dumbstruck.

"Whatever Rose is drinking is fine."

"Okay," I smile softly, enjoying when a rosy pink creeps up her neck, settling on the apple of her cheek.

*LB*

Dinner is uneventful.

Emmett and Jacob engage quickly in work conversation, earning an eye roll from Rose who quickly begins chatting with Bella. I strain to hear but mostly Bella listens to Rose bitch and moan. She adds input when necessary, laughs when Rose digs at Emmett, and agrees when Rose makes a claim. It seems so rehearsed- _she _seems so rehearsed, like everything she does is forced and never true. She does what will please other people.

"So you're a writer," Emmett says, breaking away from Jacob and fixating on Bella.

Bella shrugs. "Sort of." She stops talking but everyone is watching her, waiting for her to continue. I lean forward in my chair. She coughs. "I wrote one novel, when I was in college. It got published but didn't really gain a lot of interest. I sort of freelance now in the city. It pays, and that is important when you're living in New York with a husband fresh out of med school."

"I'm with ya there Bells. I'm paying off law school as we speak," Emmett says and it doesn't escape her attention-or mine-that he has taken to Jacob's nickname.

"What was the title?" I ask. "Of your book," I clarify when Bella looks confused.

"Oh, um, _The Chief_." She doesn't elaborate. My curiosity flares.

"I'll have to look for it."

Bella smiles, and I smile, and it feels very saccharine until Rose snickers.

"When was the last time you opened a book, Edward?"

"I read, Rosalie," I hiss.

"I'm sure when it was required," she sniggers.

I groan and drop my head to my hands. I yank the hair, a tendency I picked up unfortunately from my father. He used to do it when I would piss him off, which was often.

"What do you do Edward?" Bella says softly. "Besides opening up required reading, I mean."

I huff a laugh through my nose. "I'm an artist, of sorts."

"Have I seen any of your work?" Her face contorts into curiosity and thoughtfulness.

"Probably not," I say sheepishly. "I've only done local shows and such."

"Do you live in the city?"

I sip my beer and twist the bottle around on the table top. "No, I live in Rhode Island, Providence specifically. I went to art school there."

Bella opens her mouth but Emmett speaks before her. "He's moving to the big ol' city though. Little Rhody too small for Posie and too small for Eddie."

I grimace but keep quiet. The real reason behind me leaving Providence is Carlisle, but the only person who knows that is Rose, and only because she was there in June when I argued with it, my twenty seventh birthday cake between us. That explains why Rose is silent and keeping her eyes trained on the horizon that is now at the cusp of nightfall.

"Well, good luck," Bella smiles. "It really is a great city."

"Yeah," I muse. "I'm sure it is."

Jacob returns with a beer in his hand and a buzzed grin on his face. Bella falls to the wayside of everyone's attention.

Everyone's but mine.

Her eyes meet mine more than once across the crumb covered plates that litter the table, still with the single candle that sways to the beat of the ocean's breeze.

*LB*

**BELLA**

"Thank you for cleaning up, Bella."

I slide the last white porcelain plate into the dishwasher. "It's the least I can do, Rosalie."

Rosalie is standing alone at the granite island. Her tan arms are crossed in front and she leans on them. Her eyes have softened, probably due to the wine, and her hair isn't perfectly settling on her shoulders but windblown and tangled. She's still beautiful, but less threatening.

"You're the guest Bella," she giggles freely. "I could have cleaned up. It was mostly Emmett's mess anyway."

I laugh, and it feels genuine. I was surprised by how Rosalie immediately began talking to me when the conversation at the table switched to a debate about politics and law firms between Emmett and Jacob. I still felt bubbles in my stomach and let her run the conversation which seemed to be her strong point anyways. I contributed my portion, like a good guest but as the time wore on, I found myself enjoying her company.

And then there was her brother. I wasn't sure what I was expecting. I guess someone with the same intimidation that Rosalie held, that made me feel small and awkward. But he wasn't that way. He was beautiful, but his physique was less rigid than Rosalie's. His hair was untidy and the color reminded me of leaves in the park, the kind that crunch under my boots when I walk. He was pale and while it may look sickly next to Jake's dark complexion, it only made his hair more striking. Then there were his eyes. They were so green they couldn't possibly be real. The utmost perfect cross between hazel and evergreen; light and dark with a glowing ember hue around the pupil. They were like the forest back home in Forks, so green in some places you forget where you started but still with areas where the sun peaks through in rarity.

I could feel his eyes on my face as we ate. A blushing heat was constantly resting against my cheekbones while my stomach was doing back flips. When he shook my hand, the contact was like he ignited a fire inside me. It manifested in my stomach and radiated throughout my body. The warmth pulsated like the humidity in the park.

I knew what it was.

It was attraction.

And I was married.

God, I felt so guilty when I realized what my body had unconsciously done. My wedding ring branded into the skin. I constantly twisted it throughout dinner in an attempt to relieve the searing metal, all to no avail.

"Well, thank you Bella," Rosalie yawns, stretching her arms high above her head. "I better go get Emmett. He'll be out there with Jacob all night."

"He sure likes to talk," I say jokingly.

Rosalie snorts. "Tell me about it. Is your room all set?"

"Yes, thank you. I think I'm going to head there now, actually. I should really call Mike," I babble and jerk my thumb over my shoulder.

"Of course, well, goodnight."

"Goodnight," I call and begin moving towards my room. I hear Rosalie shouting to Emmett and Jacob before I ascend the stairs.

The entire house is decorated in soft tones, all resembling the ocean. Everything is cream or beige or baby blue. The carpet is plush and my feet leave imprints as I travel down the hallway toward my room. Multiple pictures set behind on glass rest on the walls. I recognize a younger Rosalie and Edward in many of them, though it is obvious that the photos were taken as they grew up. There are two other people in many pictures, a man with blonde hair and a woman with green eyes. I assume these are their parents and I get why Rosalie and Edward are so beautiful. Genetics were on their side.

I get to my room and rid myself of the jeans and white cotton knit I spent the day traveling in. My body sags in defeat when I plop down onto the queen-sized bed, opting to wear the tank top and underwear I left myself in. My cell rests on the lightwood bedside table. It is so ominous just lying there and I don't know why I feel so restless to pick it up and call Mike. I call my husband all the time anyways.

I dial Mike's cell. He is at the hospital tonight so the chance of him picking up is slim. But he never fails at being the ideal husband, so after four rings he answers with an enthusiasm full of admiration.

"Hey sweetheart," he coos and I know he is smiling. I squeeze my eyes shut, the same creep of guilt clawing away at my chest. I rub it with my free hand. "I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner. Did you and Jacob arrive alright?"

"Yeah," I say gently.

"How's the house?"

A small laugh escapes me. "It's very ostentatious. Sure beats apartment 3A."

Mike's laugh tickles over the phone and into my ear. "You expected that anyways."

"I did," I nod though he can't see me. "Jacob is having the time of his life."

"Of course he is. How are Rosalie and Emmett? Happy to have you, I hope."

I purse my lips and push down a cuticle with my thumb nail. "I don't really know them, but they seem nice."

"And Rosalie's brother?"

My eyes close while a painful pressure takes up residence in my forehead. I twist my index finger into my temple like a nail being twisted by a screwdriver. "His name is Edward," I begin. "He's…nice. I didn't really talk to him."

"Well, good. I'm glad you're having fun," Mike assures me before there is a commotion in the background. Another person catches Mike's attention who says he is on his way. "Hey, Bella, they need me here but I will call you in the morning. I love you."

"I love you, too," I stutter, but the line is already dead. Mike disconnected before he heard me say it back. I guess it is because he already knows I love him and he needs to go do his job.

For once, I am so secluded that I can let the prepared emotions and reactions and statements and thoughts drift away. In this room, they are footprints scattered on the shore where the salty sea licks them away. When my eyes prickle, I let the tears slip down my cheek and drop onto the white pillow case. And it is in this moment while I let myself cry in an unfamiliar room that I become aware that the ninety two miles of highway and ocean between my husband and I is just a metaphor- a comparison- for how far away we really are from each other.

The realization crashes into me like a wrecking ball smashing into a crumbling building. It doesn't demolish me completely this time, but I know it is only a matter of time before my foundation breaks completely and I am left falling with only broken pieces surrounding me.

*LB*

**Okay, so this is how it goes. You read and you hate it, you don't review. You don't review I get sad and don't write anymore. You read and you like it, you review. You review and I get happy and write a lot more.**

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**Apples.**


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